In the Dark
by JoBabeAlly
Summary: In the dark, Molly has the courage to go to Sherlock when he's emotionally hurting after the fall. In the dark, he has the courage to take what she offers and to admit to wanting John Watson as well. Molly and John bond after Sherlock leaves her flat, but there are highs and lows for the trio to undergo before coming together. Sherlolly, Jolly, Johnlock & eventual Jollock.
1. A Cry In The Night

_Set immediately after The Reichenbach Fall. Sherlolly, Jolly, Johnlock & Jollock, in that order. Molly Hooper falls pregnant by Sherlock, she and John enter into a relationship while he's "dead" and Mycroft Holmes turns into an interfering bastard after the baby is born and Molly develops post-partum depression. Angst, eventual happiness, "Anthea's" identity revealed and everything in between. A bit different from my fluffy jollock stories but it really demanded to be told. Hope you like it, and the usual disclaimers and warning apply (I own nothing and nobody but the plot and dialog, and this story will explore M/F, M/M and M/M/F sexual dynamics and be VERY ANGSTY but have a happy ending cause I love 'em)._

* * *

Molly heard him moaning. It was the third night in a row she'd heard him moaning in his sleep, and she couldn't stand it another second.

Sherlock had been in her flat, first recovering from the injuries he'd sustained when he leapt off the roof of St. Bart's, and then while plotting his next move as he waited to make sure John, Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were safe from Moriarty's snipers. It had been two weeks, and Sherlock wasn't in physical pain.

No, the moaning was due to emotional pain. He missed John, regretted being forced to let his best friend believe he was dead…but there was something more.

The rumors had never been true, of course; Molly knew that. Sherlock and John had never been lovers, Sherlock because he disdained such things, pushing aside the physical needs of his body in order to better focus his considerable intellect, and John because he was about as heterosexual a male as Molly had ever met.

But something had changed since the fall, and in the dark of her flat, with her bedroom directly across from the spare room Sherlock was currently occupying, she could admit to herself that she'd known all along that there was more to Sherlock's feelings for John than mere friendship. She recognized a hopeless love when she saw it – heard it, rather – since she'd harbored an unrequited passion for Sherlock for so long it seemed she'd always loved him.

That recognition of a fellow soul in torment was what gave her the courage to rise from her bed, slip from her room and push open Sherlock's half-closed door. She didn't announce her presence, didn't turn on any lights, just slid into bed with him and took him in her arms. When she did speak, it was two simple words in a soothing murmur: "I know."

He turned in her embrace, reaching blindly to take her face in his hands, tugging her down and pressing his lips to hers in sudden urgency. She returned the kiss, knowing it was wrong, that he didn't really want her, but this was likely the only chance she would ever have to be in Sherlock's arms, and she was just selfish enough, in just enough emotional pain of her own, to take advantage of his rare vulnerability. In the morning, when the harsh light of day reminded her of her sins, she would castigate herself, but not now. Not tonight.

Not when she stroked her hand down his body and found him hot and hard and more than ready for her. Not when he moaned as she fisted his cock, sliding her hand up and down his shaft, reaching around to cup his bollocks, reveling in the way his hips bucked. Even if he was imagining someone else – John Watson – touching him, she was content to make him happy, to ease his pain as best she could.

She certainly couldn't bring herself to stop when Sherlock's lips parted beneath hers, when his tongue thrust urgently into her mouth, tangling with hers. Not when his hands were tugging at her nightgown, pushing it up so it rested beneath her armpits, revealing her small breasts and the scrap of matching satin that passed for knickers, inadequate cover for her rapidly dampening center. Not when his lips moved down her throat, when they sucked urgently at her breasts, moving between them while his fingers slid beneath her knickers and found her wet and waiting for him.

Certainly not when he pulled the fabric of her knickers aside and plunged deep within her, moaning out her name and John's – the sound of her name coming from his lips a welcome surprise – bringing her to orgasm within minutes.

She held him tight as he continued to thrust and moan against her as she came down from her high, legs and arms wrapped around his body until, with a strangled shout, he came, filling her before collapsing upon her, sweaty and limp.

They fell asleep tangled together, Sherlock still half on top of her, a welcome weight. Sometime later Molly awoke to the feel of his lips and hands on her body again, drawing one nipple into his mouth as he massaged the other with the palm of his hand. She moaned and gasped as he slid down her body, his mouth leaving a trail of damp kisses until he nestled between her legs. They hadn't bothered to clean up, just fallen asleep in a jumble of arms and legs, and when his mouth landed on her pussy it sent a jolt through her body like nothing she'd ever felt before. His semen was drying on her thighs and cunt but that didn't seem to deter him in the least as he eased his tongue deep inside her, teasing her into another orgasm almost before he flicked it across her clit.

When she'd collapsed into a moaning, sopping wet mess, he pulled her into his arms, smoothing her tangled hair from her face and pressing kiss after kiss on her cheeks, her tightly shut eyelids, the corner of her mouth.

When she came back to herself enough to speak, she couldn't help gasping out, "Why? I thought it was John you wanted!"

"Molly, you know me," Sherlock rumbled in reply as he stroked his hand down her side, from breast to thigh and back again. "When have I ever been boring and conventional? I am perfectly capable of wanting more than one person – and I am willing to admit that I want both you and John, in my life and in my bed, at this juncture in time. The question is, can you accept that?" She sensed his eyes on her and turned her head up to face him as best she could in the near-blackness of the small room. "Can you share me with him, Molly? Because when I have cleared my name and destroyed Moriarty's criminal syndicate, when the snipers are permanently eliminated as a threat, I intend to convince John to finally act on his latent bisexual proclivities and enter into a relationship with the two of us."

He made it sound like a fait acompli, but then, this was Sherlock Holmes talking. Molly smiled, knowing he couldn't see it, then reached up and stroked his hair with one hand, tugging him down for a deep, satisfying kiss. "Of course I can share you, Sherlock," she whispered against his lips when the kiss ended. "I'll take you any way I can get you, but you already know that. Whether it's just this one night or forever or anything in between, you have me and always will."

"Then I have a favor to ask you," he replied after a moment, a moment during which he pulled her closer, pressing his body tightly against hers. She could feel him, hard and ready again, but refrained from putting her hands on his cock. Not until she heard the favor he was about to ask her, although she had a feeling she already knew what it was.

That certainty gave her the boldness to speak up. "Is it about John?"

Sherlock went very still, as if she'd surprised him, and when he spoke she knew she done just that. "Yes, it's about John. He's in a bad place, you know that, Molly. Do you think you could find a way to…comfort him while I'm gone?"

Comfort John. Oh, Molly knew exactly what Sherlock was asking of her, and it was no easy thing. However, it was exactly what she'd expected him to ask, and she already knew the answer. "Of course. Whatever you need – and whatever he needs," she added, just to be sure he understood that she knew what he wanted her to do. "I'll be there for him, Sherlock, I promise."

He kissed her again, showing his gratitude, expressing it the best way he knew how, and she was content, knowing she'd once again proven his trust in her was not – never would be – misplaced.

When he raised his body over hers again, she opened her legs and moaned as he entered her, gasping out his name as he began moving, slowly at first but with increasing urgency. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, and whispered her love and need of him into his ear as he brought her to her third orgasm of the night, swiftly followed by his own, almost the same as before but better, so much better, knowing that he planned for them to have a future together. She and Sherlock and John. Unconventional, yes, but she had no doubt that if anyone could make it happen, it would be Sherlock Holmes.

**oOo**

Sherlock was gone. Two days after their night together, he was gone. Molly was still trying to adjust to the fact that things had finally come together and he had started on his self-appointed mission to destroy Moriarty's network and redeem his reputation.

At least he had Mycroft to help him. How his brother had discovered Sherlock wasn't dead, she wasn't sure, but considering his "minor" position in the British government – and how intimidating she found him – she wasn't about to ask. Not that she had any idea how to contact him, of course, but that didn't stop her from wondering.

And even though Sherlock had told her not to, of course she couldn't stop wondering about him as well. Was he safe, was he remembering to eat and get enough sleep. Did he miss her the way she missed him.

At least he'd taken the time to say goodbye and not just disappear in the middle of the night the way she half-expected him to. At least he'd given her a few hours notice.

At least, she remembered with a smile and blush, he'd snogged her thoroughly before vanishing into the dark.

He'd been gone for a week before she found the courage to approach John Watson. She'd seen him at the funeral, of course, but he'd been so broken up she hadn't trusted herself to do more than murmur a few words of condolence to him; anything more and she was afraid she'd break down and tell him the truth. Sherlock isn't dead, John, but you're in danger so he can't come back until he's fixed it all.

No, that wouldn't go well at all, for too many reasons to list.

Today, however, Mrs. Hudson had invited her for tea. "It's more for John's sake than mine," she'd admitted when she rang Molly up the previous day. "He just sits alone inside the flat, hasn't even gone out for milk or anything, poor boy." She'd sighed, Molly had murmured something she hoped was soothing, then been shocked when Mrs. Hudson blurted out: "I know the rumors about the two of them weren't true – John has had a shocking amount of lady friends spend the night over the past few years – but I can't help but think they might have come to some kind of an understanding, given enough time." Then she'd apologized, Molly had assured her it was quite all right, and the conversation ended with Molly agreeing to come for tea.

Which was why she was currently standing outside the entrance to 221B Baker Street, hesitating. Should she ring or not? Was this a bad idea? Her stomach certainly didn't think so; it had been unsettled ever since she got up that morning and still wasn't very happy with her.

She squared her shoulders. Upset stomach or no (damned nerves), she'd accepted an invitation. Besides, she'd promised Sherlock. She loved him, would do anything for him, and John was a friend (and if Sherlock was right, soon to be more than a friend) in pain. She could keep her mouth shut, keep Sherlock's secret, but she could talk to John about anything else. That was the agreement, and that thought gave her the courage to finally press the buzzer labeled "Hudson."

The door opened less than a minute later, revealing the beaming face of Mrs. Hudson. "Molly, so glad you could make it, dear!" The older woman ushered her inside, giving her a warm hug after closing the door behind her. "I'll just get the tray ready, you go on up and let John know I'll be there in a few."

Before Molly could offer to help, she vanished into her own flat, the door closing firmly behind her. Molly shrugged, hung up her coat on one of the hooks and walked up the stairs.

The door to John and Sherlock's flat was shut, so she knocked. When there was no response, she knocked again, this time calling out: "John? It's Molly Hooper. Mrs. Hudson invited me to tea, she'll be up…"

Before she could finish, the door opened to reveal a wan, tired-eyed John Watson. He was fully dressed in a clean jumper, denim trousers and a pair of worn grey trainers, but it was clearly only habit that kept him from lounging around in pajamas and a dressing gown.

She was taken aback to see him leaning on his long-disused cane; oh, God, the limp had returned. She shut her mouth and pasted on a bright smile. "Hullo, John. I hope this isn't a bad time, but Mrs. Hudson insisted…"

She fell silent as he pulled the door fully open and stepped aside, silently permitting her to enter.

He left the door open in anticipation of Mrs. Hudson joining them with the tea tray, leaning heavily on his cane as he followed Molly to the sofa. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Thanks for coming by, Molly. I know you have a busy schedule…"

She paused in the act of sitting, then stood back up, walked over to him and pulled him into a comforting embrace. "I miss him too, John," she whispered as his arms wrapped around her and his head settled in the crook of her neck.

He pretended he wasn't crying and she pretended not to feel the hot tears soaking into her shoulder. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson took another ten minutes to join them, giving them both time to regain their composure.

The afternoon only improved after that. Mrs. Hudson, as Molly had already learned, made an excellent cuppa, and John came out of his grief and actually talked to both women. When Molly and Mrs. Hudson made to leave, worried about overstaying their welcome, he actually asked them to stay a bit longer.

An hour later Molly was finally on her way out the door when Mrs. Hudson stopped her. "Thank you, dear," she said in a soft voice, eyes glistening with emotion. "That did him a world of good. Do you think you might stop by more often in future? I do my best but seeing you seems to have brought some of his old sparkle back, and if John is looking at pretty girls again, then maybe he'll be able to get his life back together after all. I do worry," she added with a sad smile of her own.

Molly was touched, and reached out to take the older woman's hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Of course I will, and not just for John," she assured Mrs. Hudson. "You loved Sherlock, too, after all."

**oOo**

One month later found things little changed for them. Molly hadn't heard from Sherlock – not that she expected to; he'd as good as warned her it might be months before it was safe for him to communicate with her – and John was still using his cane, but they'd settled into something of a routine that helped keep them both sane. Molly came round every few days for tea or dinner, depending on her work schedule, with Mrs. Hudson providing the meals at her insistence ("Cooking gives me something to do, dear, even if I'm not John's housekeeper") and the three of them gradually becoming more and more comfortable with one another's company.

At the end of that first month, however, things changed in a drastic manner for two reasons: one, she and John had a serious snogging session after an evening spent watching crap telly and drinking wine while Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister in Leeds, and two, Molly realized her continued physical malaise wasn't due to stress or worry alone.

In short, she was pregnant.


	2. Lost Souls Connecting

_Author's Note: Here be Jolly, folks! Next few chapters will be angsty before Sherlock finally returns...and then even more angsty for a while before our threesome gets their happy ending. Kinda different from my other Jollock stories, but I hope you enjoy it anyway._

* * *

She cried when she told John, a few days after receiving official confirmation; she couldn't help it. She'd already confessed that she and Sherlock had spent the night together, although she'd claimed it was the night before he jumped, of course. She was on the pill but had been one of the unlucky one percent for whom it was ineffective. "Of course it would be me," she said as he held her in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder. "John, what am I going to do?"

"Do you want to…to keep it?" he asked, his voice gentle and soothing as he stroked her hair away from her face with one hand while the other rested on top of hers on her lap.

She looked up at him, knowing her eyes were red and her nose as well; she was one of the unfortunate ones who got blotchy when she cried, nothing pretty about it. "Yes," she replied simply. There was never any question of her not wanting to keep Sherlock's baby. "But there will be an awful fuss if anyone finds out…and you know they will, the reporters always find someone to tattle to them if enough money is involved."

She sighed and started to move out of his arms, but John tightened his grip and dropped a kiss on her temple, keeping her firmly in place as he replied, "I know. The jackals of the press and all that." He'd undergone more than his share of unpleasantness since Sherlock had jumped, much more than Molly had since he was Sherlock's friend and flatmate and she was (as far as the larger world knew) only a pathologist whom the detective had "fooled" while working with her over the past five years of his association with St. Bart's.

His expression turned thoughtful, and Molly, who'd been about to speak, kept shut and waited instead. "Would it be better if you named someone else as the father?" he finally asked, stroking tentative fingers down her arm from her shoulder to her wrist and back again.

She felt a tingle go over her at the feel of his hand on her bare skin, and a feeling of sudden joy squeezed her heart as she realized what he was offering. She looked up at him. "You'd do that for me – for us?" she corrected herself. "Would you do that, John?"

He nodded and smiled. "It would protect you from the gossips and jackals; enough people at the hospital knew you and Sherlock were sort of friends that they might put two and two together if you tried to just, you know, not name the father or pretend it was a one-off with some chap you met in a bar."

"Yeah, I'm afraid no one would believe that about me," Molly replied, her voice rueful. Her hand reached up of its own volition and stroked John's cheek. His eyes shut briefly, lips still curved in a smile, then he was leaning down and kissing her.

It wasn't their first kiss, but certainly the first that didn't involve alcohol. Molly had waited for John to say something after that incredible snogging session, but all he'd done was mumble an apology right after and then avoid the subject ever since.

Now, however, there was no wine to blame, only two people who needed each other reaching out and seeking comfort in one another's arms.

Molly had managed to keep her guilt about her secret knowledge suppressed, knowing she was lying to John on the one hand, but also feeling as if she were in the same boat on the other, since she had no idea of Sherlock was still alive and well or not at this point. Oh, she knew it wasn't even close to being the same, but it kept her from completely losing her mind with guilt. And now that she knew she was pregnant, she needed to do her damndest to keep her stress levels down.

With that in mind, she gently ended the kiss and pulled back enough to face John, her expression serious as she said: "John, there's something about that night that I didn't tell you about, but you need to know."

He looked confused, a bit wary, but rubbed gentle circles into her shoulders and nodded for her to continue. She kept her eyes trained on his, not wanting to miss a single nuance of his expression as she shared Sherlock's feelings with him. "It wasn't just me in that room with us…not literally, of course, but in spirit…you were there, too." She reached up to caress his cheek, running her fingers lightly along the shell of his ear as she continued. "Sherlock admitted…I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable or upset, but John he told me…"

"…he wanted me, too," he finished for her, eyes crinkling at the corners as he offered Molly a sad smile. "I know. And the strange thing is, I can't say the feeling wasn't…mutual." He blew out a breath and leaned against the back of the sofa, bringing her with him, his arms still around her, making her feel safe and secure and, truth be told, quite turned on as well. Was it because Sherlock wanted him, that she wanted him as well, or had this been building all along?

She ignored her mind's buzzing desire to analyze – and a simultaneous desire to relive their first snogging session – listening attentively as John poured out feelings and desires that couldn't have been easy for him to admit. "I've never been...not even at Uni or school or in the army," John was saying. "Attracted to other men, I mean. Still don't have those kind of leanings except when I think about him. Crazy, isn't it?"

Molly shook her head. "No, not crazy at all, John," she replied, once again stroking her fingers down the side of his cheek. "No crazier than me falling head over heels for a man who treated me like shit for years, didn't even seem to ever notice me as a woman until just before..." She choked up a bit, and John pulled her closer, tightening his embrace as tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Molly," John begged, pressing kisses to her cheeks and forehead, the parts of her face he could reach with her snuggled so tightly against him. "We'll get through this together, yeah? You and me and little Sherlock Junior. We'll raise him up right, tell him all about his father and do our best to keep him from turning into a socially inept little shit."

That last bit brought a snort of laughter from Molly; she gazed up at John and smiled. The smile faded as their eyes met, the intensity of his gaze darkening into something different than concern for her well-being. Something...warm. Inviting.

Sensual.

Before she knew it their lips were pressed together in their third kiss. John's mouth opened, his tongue slipping between her lips, and she opened for him automatically, turning her head to give him a better angle to deepen the kiss. She felt him tugging at the pony-tail holder, pulling her hair loose with one hand while the other slid down her back and lower, cupping her bum and pressing her body more tightly against his.

He was a damn good kisser, and judging by the bulge in the front of his trousers he thought the same of her. Molly spared a second to wonder how they'd gone from tearful confessions to passion, then allowed the thoughts to fade from her mind as she focused on helping John remove his clothing while he did the same for her.

When they were both naked, she found herself lying on her back with John between her legs, his mouth on hers before sliding down to her throat, her collarbone, lower still…she let out a guttural moan as his tongue slid between her legs and thrust deep into her waiting wetness. God, he was good at this, really, really good and she could feel herself letting go already, giving in, coming undone when he'd barely touched her.

"Oh God," she gasped out as her orgasm washed over and through her. "Sherlock..."

No. She had not just cried out another man's name in the middle of...but she had. Mortified, she tried to stutter out an apology but John was having none of it. "Shh, it's all right, Molly," he murmured as he pulled her into his arms, stroking her gently from shoulder to hip, pressing a series of delicate kisses on her face – cheeks and eyes and lips. "Just promise you'll understand if I make the same mistake in a few minutes. We both love him, we both miss him, it's bound to happen. Let's just agree not to worry about it, yeah? Not to take it personally."

She nodded, kissing him deeply as he arranged himself on top of her, between her legs. Molly guided him into her – no need to worry about condoms at this point in time, not when she knew John would never let things go this far if there were anything other than the possibility of pregnancy for her to worry about – and moaned into his ear as she felt his cock filling her.

She knew she shouldn't compare, but it was different than it had been with Sherlock. Not in a bad way; certainly not worse. Just...different. She wondered what it would be like when Sherlock was able to return from his unwanted exile; would he come to her first, or to John? Or would he want them both at the same time?

That thought tore another moan out of her throat, increased her ardor to a fever pitch; picturing Sherlock and John together, with either herself in between them or simply watching them was enough to bring her crashing over the edge for a second orgasm, this one taking her so completely by surprise that she found herself screaming as John continued to thrust into her.

"So close," he gasped out as she clutched him to her, burying her face in the crook of his neck, simply breathing in the scent of him as he grunted and heaved and ultimately spent himself, going nearly rigid as he orgasmed.

He didn't call out anyone's name, simply moaned out a series of unintelligible syllables before collapsing on top of her. Molly kissed him and stroked his back, waiting for him to recover enough for her to be able to roll out from underneath him.

She didn't spend the night, not that first time. Nor did she stay the second time they made love, nor the third or the fourth, but by the fifth time they both acknowledged it was going to be a regular something between them. That was when John asked her to move in with him, and Molly agreed.

Sherlock, she was positive, would approve. Just as he would no doubt approve of John claiming to be the father of Molly's unborn child, all in the name of protecting him or her from not only the jackals of the press but from any lingering enemies.

The only person to whom they shared the truth was Mrs. Hudson, the day they sought her approval for Molly and her cat Toby to move into the flat.

Mycroft, however, found out on his own. That was the day Molly discovered just how little he cared for her, and that meeting was to have consequences none of them – neither she nor John nor Mrs. Hudson nor even Sherlock – could have foreseen.


End file.
